I Want You To Need Me
by Falling Ash
Summary: Axel doesn't want things, he needs them. And at the moment? The thing he needs is owned by something he doesn't realize he wants.


_****_**A/N:** Right, so! Another story. I'm working up a writing storm over here! This is another Axel/Roxas story (obviously) and soon I will also be updating Beat Of A Drum, followed by Teacher's Pet, and so on and so forth. Some stories may get updated before others (shrug), but I'll see what I can do. Until then, have at it you rascals!

**Dislaimer**: Fan_fiction_ and without all the lucky owning stuff that most fiction writers get.

* * *

_**Axel**_

This. This was easy. I'd spent my whole life doing exactly this, always toeing the line between what I _wanted_ and what I _needed_.

And right now, I needed a fucking car.

It shouldn't be that difficult, really, with my profession. A thief, robber, call it whatever you will. Just don't forget that I am, in fact, a fucking professional. Which means that not just _any_ car would satisfy my current _need_ for wheels. I may be a thief, but come on, I had some fucking taste. Okay, maybe taste isn't really the word I should use; maybe I should say that I'm ridiculously picky with what I steal. Yeah, _picky_. That sounds a little better. I wasn't okay with picking up a some old, rusty, dump of a car that no one really talked about, but I was even _less_ okay with picking up a pristine, expensive car that really had about as much personality as a rock buried deeply within the decaying Earth's crust.

Jesus, I needed a cigarette.

I was probably going to get caught. Maybe not in the beginning. I'd probably be able to drive the car at least a couple hundred miles before that. I mean, I _was_ a _professional_. Am. Will be. Whatever. The point was, if I wanted a car with personality, which I fucking did, it was going to make it easier to find and, therefore, making it easier to get caught. Really, though, the risk was definitely worth it.

It took me months to find anything _close_ to what I was looking for. Fucking _months_. Who knew that picking out a car was going to take that fucking long? How many morbidly, depressingly simplistic, without-a-spit of personality vehicles _were_ there?

Too fucking many.

It was a pure, angelic, finding-a-truckload-of-damn-pennies-and-picking-them-up kind of luck that finally allowed me to find a vehicle that had so much damn personality that I almost wanted to weep with joy. _Almost_. Tears ain't really my thing, if you know what I mean. It wasn't a simple car. Of course not, that would've have made my life too easy. It was in the complete opposite direction of "used cars that Mommy and Daddy buy for their kids" and about 457 blocks away from "spoiled rich kids first car." In other words, it was fucking _heaven_.

A 1966 Chevy Impala, and in a town like Twilight Town, that sight was so damn rare that it took all of my effort to not just stand there and drool over the car like a virgin seeing his first pair of breasts. The car almost looked to be in complete _mint_ condition, so the owner obviously loved the car a lot. Or at least enough to make sure that the rims didn't even _think_ about rusting. I almost wanted to wait around and see what the owner's face would look like when he realized it was gone.

What made it even better, of course, was the sheer fact that, not only was the car drool-worthy due to it's amazing condition and sheer rarity, but there was _one_ crookedly placed bumper sticker placed about 5 inches the left curve of the bumper.

_Kiss my Sassifrass._

What the fuck was _that_ about? I walked past the car, trying to control my undeniable shaking caused from holding in my even more uncontrollable laughter. For once in my life I paused to think about exactly _what_ kind of person owned a spectacular _red_ miracle like that and yet had the audacity to put something that was just so, well, for lack of a better word… _cute_.

_God I bet it's a fucking old couple._

Wincing at the thought, I paused at the mouth of the alley that separated the post office the town library. If there was one thing I detested, it was taking things from the elderly. It was one reason why I usually just looked, decided I needed, took, and left with no second thoughts. There was no need to see the owner, know the owner, or even _think_ about the owner if you could focus your mind on the _object_. It was just better that way. Really. I seriously didn't want to think about how callous that sounded, but I preferred not to interfere with people's daily lives. Stealing was one thing, but disruption was another.

I didn't really have a choice, though, to just sit and wait and watch and wait just a little longer, for the owner of the soon-to-be-mine piece of metallic beauty. God _damn_, I really needed a cancer stick. Anything to keep my mind off of the fact that it was currently November and the fading light in the sky pointed towards what I could only refer to as _sheer and utter death by boredom._ If the owner didn't show up soon I was just going to fucking take the car, with no fucks given to the very _public_ place that was surrounding it. Whatever.

A slamming door that echoed around the town square caught my attention. Fucking _finally_. I hadn't seen the owner get in, but as long as the owner was _there_ and hopefully driving it _home_, then I could come up with a strategy that involved getting my nice, calloused, fire-loving hands on that amazingly sensual piece of machinery.

Yes, cars _can_ be sensual, dammit.

The quiet purr of an engine and the car began to hedge into the lane, heading immediately towards the round-a-bout, and, well looks like lady luck smiles upon me today, straight down the street that ran parallel and just to the right of where I was standing. Hiding. Stalking? _What the fuck ever_. What mattered was that I could follow the car down this road without seeming too suspicious by crossing across the square. I could be subtle, but shit like that took too long and I wanted my hands on that baby as soon as possible.

* * *

_**A week or so later**_

I pulled the collar of my jacket closer as I tried to ignore the winds. I had definitely checked the weather and it had definitely fucking said "bright and sunny conditions." Yeah, well, fuck you too Weather Channel Meteorologists. It was probably the farthest thing from bright or sunny or fucking _anything_ except wet, cold, and completely the worst possible weather to watch someone. Or something. Whatever.

I tossed another burnt out cigarette into the small mountain that had accumulated at my feet, trying to bounce on my heels subtle enough as to not draw attention but enough to at least attempt to get some of that heat-building adrenaline.

Fuck, it was cold.

Glancing down at my wrist, I was instantly confused as to how I'd been out here for less than a minute, the long hand of my watch still nestled in-between the 6 and the 7, just like it'd been last time I'd checked. That is, until I realized that the second hand had stopped it's clockwise ticking and was remaining rather paralyzed at the top. Well, damn it to Hades, my watch had apparently stopped working. Today was just seriously not my day, was it?

How was I supposed to know how long I'd been out here, _suffering_, if I didn't have a fucking way to check the _time_? I shivered again, fumbling with the lighter as I lit another death-stick. More than a couple attempts of lighting and then dropping it more times than that, it was finally lit and I was able to take a drag that was long enough for my lungs to feel like they would burst. Gods, you really can't underestimate the beauty of cigarettes. I don't care what people say, Cancer is a risk worth taking.

Releasing the air from my lungs in a fit of coughing, I dropped my cigarette as another shiver raced violently through my body. _Fuck_, if I didn't get out of this cold rain soon I was going to freeze to death. I chuckled at the thought, picking up the soggy cigarette and starting right where I'd left off.

The thing I was watching, and the reason for standing out in what I was sure was going to be the death of me, was a cute, white house with dark blue shutters; two stories, with a white fucking picket fence. Go figure. The house didn't matter, no, it was more what was parked in the garage of that adorable, albeit cliché, house that made all of this suffering worth it.

You guessed it, my beautiful, metallic, piece of heaven was nice and snuggly in that automated-door opening garage.

I'd been coming to watch the house every couple of days, trying to determine the schedule of the person or people who owned it, but, honestly, I wasn't getting very far. It seemed like only one person lived here, and judging by the stature of said person, it seemed that they who possessed my future ride was, indeed, a female. A rather petite one at that. I never got a good glimpse of her face, which was fine with me, due to a black-rain slicker that she seemed to wear everywhere; hood up and all. Whatever. Didn't bother me worth shit.

I glanced across the street, watching as one light after another was dimmed to darkness, and grinned. I'd decided yesterday that today was the day that I just going to fucking take the car, consequences be damned. It was easier at night, because no one would think anything of a person pushing a car at one o'clock in the morning if they weren't awake to fucking see it. It was going to be cake, really, the plan was set and I'd worked through every possible outcome that could occur. I was ready for fucking _anything_.

* * *

_**3 hours later**_

Okay, maybe not everything.

I had no idea what time it was. It was late, I could tell, because most of the surrounding homes had turned off their lights about, what I assumed, was an hour ago. I think. Fuck, I don't know. At this point I wasn't sure about anything, and I'd begun to think that the cold had seeped into my brain because I couldn't even begin to _think_ straight. All I knew was that I had to get out of this fucking rain and I had to do it soon.

So, the logical conclusion was that I'd just go ahead and steal the fucking car already.

Walking across the street, I huddled into my jacket, hiding my face but also trying to keep out the wind that seemed much stronger out in the middle of the road without other houses to block it. Stumbling forward as my feet tried to get used to movement other than the occasional foot bounce, I tried to walk as unsuspecting as I could to the garage handle, just incase someone _was_ still awake and just _happened_ to be looking in this general direction. With the luck I'd had today? It was beyond probable.

I reached into the pocket of my leather jacket, trying to hold down the fit of shivers that had erupted as my hand had curled around the frigid metal of my lock-picking set. I was trying _really_ hard to focus as I placed the proper combination of the thin metals into the locking mechanism and attempted to pick it, but my mind was still numb and it seemed to take all of my effort to remember the basics of my well-thought out plan.

Pick lock. Open garage. Put car in neutral. Push car out of garage. Guide car down street. Wait until we're a safe distance away and then hotwire care. Followed of course, by blasting the heat and allowing myself a victory dance. It was a good plan. A fucking _flawless_ plan, but I felt as though there was a crucial step that I was missing and my brain, well, the Antarctic that it was swirling in, was beyond conducive to thought.

The lock made the beautiful _click_ that almost made me want to burst into tears with relief, and I fumbled with the handle to open the door was quietly as I could. Fuck the luck that I seemed to possess when it comes to the fact that my hands were apparently too numb to do anything properly. My usual grace was replaced by clumsiness that reminded me a little too much of my adolescent years, and if I kept this up I was going to get _nowhere_ but fucked. Metaphorically, of course.

Ignoring yet _another_ set of shivers, I swear to god my body was fucking earthquake worthy, I walked into the garage, surprised to find it neat, and yet filled with what looked like professional mechanic gear. Well, I wasn't expecting that. Judging from the pieces that were sprawled across the work bench, it looked like this chick knew what the fuck she was doing. I'm not going to lie, either, I was fucking _impressed_.

Don't get distracted.

The cherry red miracle was less than a foot away and it took almost all of my will power to not rub my body all over the exterior paint. It was _that_ fucking heavenly. I skirted around the front fender, taking slow steps so that I could fully absorb every small, shimmering detail. It wasn't until I was about to open the driver's side door that I heard the singing.

Really, I guess at this volume it was more like musical murmuring but it was… gods, it was kind of beautiful. Beautiful enough to make me pause in my movements and try to hear a little more of it.

A few more minutes wouldn't hurt, right?

I walked over to the door, propping myself on the wall just to the right of it and tried to listen. Even at this distance, the words slurred together to create nothing but a soft melody, but a melody that was enticing and almost _sensual_ to my ears. I wanted to hear the words…

Trying not to put too much weight on the door, I leaned against it, my ear plastered against the cold wood with as much pressure as I could muster.

_We tried to change, but the city noise made us strange. So we cut all ties by candlelight…_

So beautiful… My thoughts were turning to mush, and the sudden support that the door offered was the only thing keeping my body from slumping to the floor. When did I become so tired?

My support suddenly vanished, and I was pitched forward into the house that belonged to the voice, and as my head made contact with the floor my mind registered nothing but a flash of white. It didn't even occur to me that it was rather strange for someone to be awake at this hour, whatever hour it happened to be.

* * *

_**Roxas**_

I opened the door to take out my trash and was met by a flash of red. I couldn't help it, I screamed like a girl and ran behind the doorframe. Several moments of calming my heartbeat, as well as my breath, I poked the unfamiliar redhead in the side with my toe.

"Hey, are you alright?" Another poke. "Hello? Are you okay?" Clearly this was _not_ working.

I leaned down, my hand reaching out on it's own accord to push the shockingly red hair away from the stranger's face. He was surprisingly pale, almost deathly so, and it took all of my willpower to stop the trembling of my hands as I attempted to roll him over and get a better look at whether or not there were any wounds. I inhaled sharply when my hand met his skin; he was freezing!

All of my nursing instincts took over as I took off the wool sweater I'd been wearing and placed it over his back. Grabbing the extra blankets on the way, I walked quickly to the guest bedroom and pulled down the covers before walking back to the garage

door.

Now came the tricky part. This guy was _huge_; like, tall as all get out. I wasn't sure if I'd be able to support his whole frame long enough for me to get him to the extra room, strip him, and put him comfortably on the bed. Grunting in effort, I tried anyway.

It took 15 minutes, but I'd somehow manage to walk him across the space of the whole bottom floor, my years of nursing allowing me to strip him without looking too critically – and hungrily, I might add – at his body, and placing him in the bed with several layers of blankets. He began to shiver; a good sign.

I shut the door behind me, pulling out my cellphone as I turned on the kettle.

"Hey, Dem? Do you think you could come over here and take a look at this guy? He literately just fell into my house." A murmur of annoyance caused me to look up at the clock. "Oops, sorry, I didn't realize it was so late. Still, though, can you come as soon as possible? I'm almost positive that he has hypothermia and I just wanted a second opinion," I paused, "Also to not be alone in my house with a complete stranger who may wake up at any moment and beat me to death with a rolling pin."

A sigh alerted me of Demyx's reluctant agreement. "Fine, but only because the last time you helped a random person you wound up having to call the cops because he started threatening you at knife point!"

I sighed, running a hand through my damp, blond hair. "I didn't pick him up, okay? Can you just… please?" I whimpered, "I'm really worried about the complexion of his skin."

"I'll be right there." Click.

Tossing the phone on the couch, I grabbed the towel that I had discarded on the counter and began the process of drying my hair. It was well past midnight, but even tonight, on my night off, I couldn't seem to get the much-needed sleep that my body craved. My mind just couldn't function like that anymore, not after 2 years of working the night shift.

A slight tapping on the front door alerted me of Dem's arrival, and I walked quickly to the door, wrenching it open to find my clearly disheveled, blond co-worker. He hadn't even put his usually carefully gelled hair up, instead allowing it to lay flat around his face. I wasn't going to lie, it looked really weird.

"Yes, yes, I look beautiful." He ran a hand through his hair, inviting himself inside. "Will you kindly allow me to see this person that I know for a fact probably shouldn't be stationed in your house?"

Nodding, I began to walk towards the guest bedroom. Pushing the door open, I was surprised to see that the red-haired stranger had moved; he now lay perched on his stomach with his face looking towards the wall, the only discernable feature that was visible above the covers was that obnoxiously bright hair.

"He's in here." I muttered, moving to the side so that Demyx could walk through the door with his at home medical kit.

I waited for him to examine the stranger, but was surprised to see him standing rather frozen in the doorway.

"I know that hair…" He muttered, practically dropping his kit onto the floor and walking quickly to the bed, pushing the hair aside and cursing.

"Language." I mouthed out of habit, walking up and peering over his shoulder.

He'd begun to examine the redhead, while simultaneously shaking his shoulder to try and wake him up.

"Axel, you dumbass, what the hell were you doing outside in this weather?"

Axel? Demyx motioned for his kit and I went and grabbed it, watching him pull out the necessary materials, and taking his temperature. When the thermometer beeped, Demyx sighed.

"It looks like he suffered a slight case of hypothermia and has a fever. He'll probably develop a heavy cold, so he'll have to be monitored to make sure that he doesn't develop pneumonia on top of that." I sighed and nodded, I _knew_ all of that.

"So he'll be okay?" I asked, watching Demyx pull the covers up over the stranger's shoulders. He smoothed the hair away from the redhead's face, and sighed.

"He'll be fine. He's gone through worse than this."

We walked back to the living room, softly shutting the door behind us.

"So you know him?" I asked, sitting down on the chair and watching him sit down on the couch placed opposite of me. He sighed again, dropping his face into his hands. I don't think I'd ever seen Demyx so tired and it made me wonder if I'd ever really paid attention to the blond male that I called my friend. Could I even really call him that? I liked to think I could, after all, only friends would wake up and rush over to inspect a sudden stranger. Right?

He nodded, rubbing his eyes before pointing his thumb in the general direction of the guest bedroom and my current guest. "That big lug in there – you noticed that he's, like a giant, right? He's been like that since we were kids. Anyways, yeah, I know him. We grew up together, but after high school… We lost touch. I went to nursing school and he just disappeared. I didn't look for him, but that was mostly because I didn't figure he wanted me to. He's always been a really independent guy, and despite the fact that we were practically brothers, he never really let me get involved with certain aspects of his life."

I nodded, choosing to remain silent. Demyx didn't continue on with his story, and, honestly, I wasn't sure if that was because there was nothing more to tell or because he was wallowing in the guilt that I had heard in his voice. Despite the fact that he tried as much as he could to shrug it off – because that was just what Demy did – I could tell that this Axel character's sudden disappearance had taken quite a toll on him. Well, I'd just have to make sure to have a word – if not several – with this hypothermic giant about that. No one deserved to just be left behind like that.

A quick glance at my blond-haired friend proved to me that he needed to get home and sleep, so I bumped his shoulder to wake him up and ushered him towards the door, promising to keep an eye on his long-lost friend and calling him should he wake up.

"Promise?"

"Pinky."

He rolled his eyes at my response, just like he always did, and walked out to his car. I grabbed several more blankets on my way back down the hall, knowing that it was going to be a very long night.

* * *

Until next time, my dears.


End file.
